Little Things
by CosmicMagnolia
Summary: Inspired by Diysheep’s ‘The Contract.’ This started as a one-shot but has grown to become a series of them, all taking place one year or later after Wilson has taken House under his care. Rated for swearing.
1. Chapter 1

A random idea that popped into my head some time ago that I finally decided to write down. I'm far from the best at this and frankly think my story is schlock compared to what some people have contributed to the Contract's growing storyline, but it's worth a shot to see how things turn up. Flame if you feel it necessary, but they will be completely ignored ;) Constructive criticism and reviews are very much welcome.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House or any of its characters, blah blah tittyfuck.

* * *

"_Ever wondered what it was like looking after a 45 year old toddler?"_

Wilson remembered saying that a long time ago. He shocked himself by remembering it was nearly a year ago that he'd sat in the psychiatrist's office with House, and made that remark upon discovering his shoelaces had been hijacked.

It had been a full year since Wilson had taken House into his care. A year since that god-awful ordeal finally ended, and with it House's torment.

He still wasn't the same. House had never quite returned from the far recesses of his mind, and at this point even Wilson doubted he would. There had been good progress made as it was- he was more comfortable around people(well, certain people), he still didn't speak but on occasion he would make small sounds, he pointed to things he liked or wanted, and Wilson had even seen him smile- it was a tiny, lopsided smirk that had gone as soon as it came, but it was still something. Wilson tried to convince himself it was the little things that mattered and it was all a sign of House's very slow, but steady recovery… but the fact of the matter was, it had been a year and House had barely changed. Still a tiny child in the body of a man. A weak, terrified excuse for the arrogant genius that once stood there.

Wilson had always wanted children. Boy or girl, he didn't care, he loved kids and dreamed of the day he'd be a father. Having the career he did would make things difficult, but he would find a way to make it work. He wanted a family. After three failed marriages and a few teetering relationships, it seemed House was his family here. He was loud and obnoxious and made a sport of terrorizing the younger doctor, but what is family for? A strange laugh escaped him as the thought crossed his mind that now House was his child. His best friend was his kid.  
Except he couldn't quite think of it that way. Children were very dependant and had to have almost constant supervision to ensure they didn't break something, particularly their bones, and were usually afraid of the dark and loud noises and strangers… and House was very much the same. But children talked to you. Children trusted you. Children were loud and creative and often downright selfish, but they openly expressed themselves, and laughed and cried…

And House sat silent, unmoving. Dead, all of the arrogance and intelligence and noise and creativity literally beaten out of him. House wasn't even a child. He was a zombie.

Wilson had taken him in because the thought of his best friend in an institution was too much to bear. He, like everyone, was more than grateful for what House, the seemingly heartless bastard, had done uncomplainingly for them. He had spared their lives at the possible expense of his own. In a vain attempt to pay his friend back for his sacrifice, Wilson agreed to take care of him, rather than see him shipped off to a strange building where god knows how he'd fare in his current state. He had fixed up his own apartment so two people could comfortably live there, gave House the tiny room he'd once used as a study, and attempted to make his life as comfortable and peaceful as possible. House was with him day and night, and Wilson cared for him, always patient, always smiling and reassuring, as was his nature. Friendly, comforting, reassuring Wilson with that beatific smile on his face. He didn't always want to be patient and calm, though. In reality, after personally seeing to House for a year, he didn't even want to look at the man anymore- just seeing him made Wilson want to scream. Not because of House himself, but what he had become. What had been done to him, and the sheer injustice of it.

Wilson couldn't scream, though. He knew he couldn't make a sound much louder than a whisper around House.

But he wanted to. He wanted to scream, he wanted to rail and yell and cry in his frustration that he couldn't bring his friend back, that once again his efforts for House weren't enough somehow and that in some way he'd managed to fail yet again. He wanted to scream that he hated having to bathe and dress the most fiercely independent man he'd ever known, that he hated that fucking leash he had to tie House to like a dog anytime they went outside, that he hated talking to the walls as House stared vacantly in his direction, not making a sound, leaving Wilson to wonder if House was taking anything in, if anything was actually getting past that fortress in his mind. He hated seeing the scars and the wounds, and being capable of feeling every rib and tracing every vertebrae. He hated seeing House flinch at every sudden movement and shiver every time he was touched, it only made the horrors he had endured more real, more prominent. It made Wilson hate humanity for finding pleasure in such evil, and he wanted to lash out against it.  
He could only smile patiently, though.

* * *

He had been talking to himself a lot lately.

Wilson didn't necessarily talk to himself, but the person he _was_ talking to never responded, so he figured it wasn't much better. He found himself filling the endless silent spaces with mindless chatter, figuring House wasn't listening but not caring. He knew House didn't like noise, but total silence made him uncomfortable too, so he chose to simply talk to him in a quiet voice. A small part of him did it in desperate hope that it might spark life into whatever was left of Old House in his friend, and his pointless monologues about what he saw on tv that day or the nurses' gossiping would be interrupted some fateful day by House yelling at him to shut up as he hobbled over to the stereo and put The Doors on full-blast. Another part of him just wanted to talk to someone. Needed to talk to someone. He'd caught himself at the hospital, launching into conversations with people he barely knew just because they'd given him a cordial greeting. Hours spent in his office with nothing to do, mumbling random things to himself, wondering what House would have to say. He laughed and shook his head at the thought that work was the one place he always tried to avoid House, and now he'd give anything to see that crippled idiot jumping over the wall onto his balcony.

He was glad to be able to get back to the hospital though, thanks to Clarence- that man was a godsend. House took to him immediately and Clarence treated him like a little brother. He was surprised that such a bond was created so quickly given Clarence's intimidating build, but he had a kind face and a warm voice and House probably liked that. Knowing his friend was in good hands while he was gone, Wilson returned to PPTH. _Thank God for small favors_, he thought to himself, going back to those little things that matter so much. Wilson loved his job, and he also saw it as a reprieve from the task of making sure House didn't kill himself somehow- a break from having to walk on eggshells for fear of something triggering a panic attack in his friend. House had calmed down a bit over time- the ice machine no longer terrified him, but certain tools still freaked him out and clattering pans or falling objects still made him head for the hills. But, he _had_ gotten better.  
Wilson found out quickly, though, that the hospital was awash with memories and images that made it difficult just to walk around, knowing that the House in those old thoughts was no longer there. It was particularly difficult to eventually see House's office taken over and changed by the new head of diagnostics, whom Wilson still had yet to meet. And even a year later, talk of House could still be heard from time to time- everyone from doctors to his own patients would bring him up casually on occasion, and ask about him- how he was doing, whether he was coming back to the hospital. _Oh, if only,_ some sad voice echoed through Wilson's mind. Even when he was away from House, he couldn't escape him or the reality of his fate.

* * *

Wilson loved House. He still did- his love for his friend was as strong as it ever was. But a whole new strain put on their already messed up friendship was causing Wilson more stress than he could handle, and it was showing. The circles under his eyes were almost frighteningly pronounced from many nights spent awake, trying to calm House down and give him some inkling of comfort after one of his many horrifying nightmares. They were hardly noticeable yet, but lines of stress and worry were already beginning to form on the young doctor's face, and while he kept his calm but bright demeanor among his colleagues and patients, it was clear to those who were closer to him that he was listless, exhausted and depressed. He never mentioned a word of it, but it was clear a part of him was dying. House was living with him, but he wasn't truly there. Wilson had lost his friend, and it didn't seem reasonable to think he'd be coming back anymore. He seemed to have finally given up hope.

But, for as ridiculous as it sounded, even to him, Wilson still hadn't completely given up. It had been a year with close to no improvement, but he still saw reason to believe that House was still _somewhere_ inside that shell of himself in the littlest things- he nearly had a heart attack the day he saw House fiddling with a statue of a piano he had on a shelf, looking it over and poking it, trying to depress the keys. He still loved pancakes with a fiery passion, and still didn't seem to take any interest in Hitchcock films(_It was worth a shot, _Wilson thought with a snicker). House put his full trust in Wilson for once, and Wilson was determined not to let him down by making him feel as safe and loved as he possibly could. To Wilson, the little things really did matter. Seeing a smile. A full night's sleep. An obsession with pancakes and pizza. Getting a hug back. Wilson would take them as they came, sure that they were slow-coming but steady steps of improvement for his friend.

Wilson helped House into bed, and as was his nightly ritual, hugged him and pecked him on the cheek.

"Goodnight, House. I love you, and I'm only a few feet away, okay?"

And as Wilson got up, he saw the trademark tiny, fleeting smile on House's face. _One more little thing. _


	2. House's Head

At the behest of a few people who asked me to write more for this, I've decided to keep it going. I don't think this is what y'all wanted, but its what I can fly with- a series of one-shots or character studies involving House and Wilson post-Contract. None of the stories will really be connected to each other in any way, at least not intentionally, except for they will all take place a year after Wilson takes House in, and of course, the tie-in of those "little things." Does anyone like that idea? I'm not the best writer in the world, and I have the feeling that if I kept going with one idea I'd run it into the ground after chapter 2 and the story would get progressively worse. But, at any rate I hope I can live up to your expectations.

This story, very unoriginally titled "House's Head" is just that- a peer into what's going on in House's mind and why he is the way he is(aside from obvious reasons) now that he is free from the contract and prison. This one is a bit strange, dealing a lot with psychology. I was as accurate as I possibly could be in writing this, but I did tweak things a tiny bit to fit how I wanted the story to work. It may be clear what's accurate and what I made up, but if anyone reading this is majoring in Psychology, please don't yell at me for fucking up! xP Tell me what you think of this, though. Any comments or reviews would be very helpful.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own House or any of its characters, I'm just borrowing them. I'll try to get them back in one piece, I promise.

* * *

At the core, the Firstborn lay in a strange state of consciousness.

He was vaguely aware of another presence outside of him, protecting him. The Other One protected him with a thick layer of fear, refusing to trust or let his guard down, in case a mistake was made and the abuse began again. His job was to protect the core, to act for it, to keep it buried.

House was aware of what had happened. He had endured enough mental and physical abuse to shatter him, but instead of snapping, his mind simply created a replacement to endure the suffering, and let the battle-weary, abused self rest, submerged deep within itself. He had Multiple Personality Disorder, but not the usual variety- rather than a multitude of personalities living within and communicating occasionally through the person- the Firstborn- this one personality, though there can be many, had taken over completely, leaving the Firstborn to sleep. It happened sometimes to people who had been sexually abused as young children, or undergone irreparable torment. The creative mind birthed a scapegoat, someone new to deal with the problems while the beaten Self lay unconscious, blissfully unable to think, feel or act.

But instead of dying away or lying asleep within the mental womb, House was awake and aware of his activity, an unusual case as always. He could not act, but he sat there at the core of himself and observed the work of Fear, who had ordered regression back to early childhood. He was now weak, scared and almost completely dependent, in need of help for everything from dressing to eating, but always aware, always on edge, in constant remembrance of the abuse that once took place and fearful of its return if anything or anyone is trusted too much. No one could be trusted anymore. It was never certain that they wouldn't have to endure prison again.  
House was knew what had happened, though, and that created conflict that was not supposed to exist. House knew he was now free from danger and abuse. Fear refused to believe it wasn't all a trick for the sadistic entertainment of their torturers- they had been lured into a false sense of safety more than once. House was aware that he was in a safe place, cared for by someone who loved him. Fear trusted nothing, certain every loud noise was impending agony, every dark room meant confinement, and no one meant them well. Despite House's awareness, he was submerged far beyond the ability to control his own self anymore. Fear was in control, and his beliefs, meant to protect them, dominated. The worst part of this strange dual awareness of personalities was that the very reason House's mind had done this, had no effect. The Other was intended to remember the cruelty and pain, but could not feel it. The Firstborn could feel- but it was not supposed to be awake. Awareness caused the incessant remembrance of suffering in the Other to recreate the pain of it in the Firstborn.  
Fear constantly reminded House of the pain, and House constantly felt it. The suffering doubled where there was supposed to be none, and House reeled within himself.

* * *

"Good morning, House."

The man was there again. His name was Wilson, but his name made no difference. _Do not respond. I was not commanded to speak, I was not told what to say. I know what happens when I talk out of line. _

And House remembered.

"Do you want pancakes?" Wilson sounded cheery and hopeful. Hoping for a response, hoping House would actually say something, or at least nod his head. His friend continued to stare blankly, though.

_It's a trick question._

No it isn't, House thought. Every time he asks us about food, we get food. Any time he asks us if we want _anything,_ we get it. He's not trying to hurt me.

Fear didn't hear him. The Other usually couldn't, because he wasn't supposed to. On occasion House managed to make his own thoughts heard, but they had little to no effect.

Wilson sighed, but smiled, and went to another room. "You can come on out whenever you feel like it, I'll have breakfast ready soon."

_It's a trap. I haven't been ordered to move. _

So House sat silent, not moving a muscle. _It's the only way to stay safe. It's impossible to do anything wrong if sitting perfectly still. They can't punish you for listening._

'They' aren't here anymore, House thought. It's safe here.

He had tried to block out Fear with his own thoughts, in hope that they would carry through and be heard instead by the shell that was currently himself. It had only worked once, but that was what mattered. He _was_ capable of penetrating through the core. He would keep trying.

Wilson shook his head as he re-entered House's room later, only to see he hadn't moved an inch. _You gotta learn that you can do things without being_ told_ to now. _He was surprised House would _breathe_ without being given express permission. It saddened Wilson to know that despite his friend was out of harm's way, he still believed he was in the clutches of evil. Something in his mind hadn't clicked yet and let him relax. It made him angry that House was still afraid of being touched and stared at full plates of food in disbelief. It broke his heart that his strong-willed, fearless friend was afraid to be alone and had to sleep with a nightlight. _Someday he'll start to come out of it, _Wilson thought optimistically. He at least hoped so.

"Come on, buddy. Pancakes and bacon await." His heart broke when House flinched at the hand on his shoulder, but House got up at that, and followed Wilson into the small kitchen. Fear had put a miniscule amount of trust in Wilson by now, simply because they had been in the man's care for so long and nothing bad had happened. Not yet. The day the pain began again was inevitable, and so the overall dread and distrust remained. He did not move without orders. He did not speak at all. He did exactly what he was told to do, and nothing else. Fear knew if he did any more or less, the punishment would start anew. He was certain.

House lay at his own core, knowing Wilson was near. His friend. That man is good. He will never hurt you. You can trust him. He loves you. Despite House's efforts, Fear's paranoid delusions remained at the very front of the mind, his own assuring thoughts only dimly echoing at the back, either unheard or ignored. House was still greatly disturbed by what had happened to him, he knew he wasn't the same person anymore, and the world had become a darker place since his ordeal, a place to be wary of, not to trust at first sight. But he knew Wilson. He knew Wilson would never do a thing to harm him. If he could at least get that through, things would be better. He was broken and traumatized, physically, mentally and emotionally, but the Firstborn wanted to regain control.

Wilson sat across from House, eating and nonchalantly talking about this and that while making sure House took the lion's share of the meal, trying to get weight back on the man's frighteningly thin frame. Even after so long, he was still underweight and it worried Wilson to a degree, but he was eating and slowly getting healthier, and that was all he could ask for.  
House listened intently to Wilson's every word, comforted by his voice. He was rambling on about an article he'd read in a crappy tabloid about aliens and something about Hawaii, he saw a falcon flying around the other day, it was such a pretty bird and House would have been far more entertained by watching it tear a pigeon's head right off than he was, the drycleaners messed one of his suits up… it was completely pointless, but House liked hearing his voice- it was always soft, always hinted with some amount of happiness or calm that made things seem safe. His entire body remained rigid though, nervous of doing something that would provoke anger. _It's not real. It's a trap. Do not relax, do not move. Remember what happens when you do anything without permission.  
_House remembered. He stayed sitting straight up, staring blankly, trying to suppress the shudder that moved through him. Wilson noticed with some concern, but also saw House attempting to hide it, and so completely ignored it for his friend's sake and continued his monologue as he cleared the dishes. He glanced over at House after a time and said calmly, "You can go into the other room and watch tv if you want. Or look at a magazine or a book, go to your room… whatever you want to do. The morning is yours, my friend. But you're taking a bath at _some_ point," ending with an amused tone and a smirk on his face. He felt the need to give House several options, knowing if he only said he could do one thing, that's the only thing House would do. Wilson sighed again, feeling that sometimes that's all you can do. Sigh and keep hoping for the best.

* * *

It had never been accounted for that the shell was capable of hearing the separate personalities, as can sometimes occur.

House had been sitting silently for over an hour as Wilson milled around, doing various small things around the apartment. The television was on, but not a bit of attention was being paid to it. It appeared on the outside that House was simply staring into space, in his own little world. It was partly true.

_Sit completely still. Someone may be watching, waiting for a mistake, an excuse to hurt me even more._

No one is going to cause any more pain. It's done. Our suffering is over with.

_Someone is making sure I stay still. Just because the other man hasn't harmed me doesn't mean he won't, or no one else will. This is all false. Do not move. Pain comes from not following orders._

And the pain was remembered. Memories of being beaten roused in House's brain and caused many still healing wounds to flare. He bit back a yelp of pain, remaining stoic. _Do not make noise. That will only make it worse. _

There is nothing here to hurt you! This place is safe. You aren't in prison anymore, the people that hurt you are there now instead. Wilson would never harm you, ever. You are safe here.

The pain and the memories of what caused it continued to whirl in House's head, frightening him with brutal images, all the while a strange battle in his brain raging on.

_Stay still. They can't hurt you if you stay still. Don't move. Don't shake. Don't show pain. Don't show that you feel anything._

You're not going to get hurt here. Its safe here. Wilson is safe. Nothing bad can happen anymore. Not here.

_I got beaten just for breathing too hard. Nothing is too cautious. Be safe. Don't make the pain come back…_

The two separate lines of debate rattled on, seemingly unaware of each other- one House's own thoughts, the other a strangely familiar voice from nowhere, both overlapping each other and blending together in a maddening mess of barely coherent noise in House's head. In a mixture of pain, confusion and pure fear, House began to cry. He drew his legs up onto the couch and put his arms over his head, shaking slightly, a small ball of fear on the couch.

It was so quiet as Wilson got out of the shower and headed to the bedroom, it took him until he was fully dressed and had walked into the living room to realize anything was amiss. His heart sank and a cold fear swept over him when he saw House in a tearful ball on the couch.

"Sweet Jesus… House, what's wrong?" It took effort not to run in his direction, heavy knowledge of how nervous sudden movements made his friend being the only thing keeping him from it. Wilson sat down beside him and slowly attempted to get him uncurled and sitting up. House jumped at his touch, but Wilson managed to help him sit up, carefully setting his legs down off the couch, one arm draped over the man's shaking shoulders.

The look of pure fear and concern could not have been more raw or real than the display on Wilson's face as he attempted to get House to look at him. "House… what happened? Look at me. What happened? You can tell me. What got you so upset?" A fresh set of tears welled up in House's eyes, and at that point Wilson was about ready to cry, himself. _What the hell could have possibly happened in the 15 minutes I was out of the room?_

This time it was the Firstborn's voice that was heard above the Other. See how much he cares? He would never want to hurt you. He is concerned about you, and only wants to make you happy. He is safe. He is your best friend, and you can trust him above anyone else.  
House looked at Wilson, who was staring back with dark eyes pierced with fear, but filled with warmth and love, clear as day. The tears fell, and House buried himself in his friend, who gladly enveloped him in his arms.

"You're alright… I'm here, you're okay. Whatever scared you so much can't possibly harm you, I won't let it…" Wilson was confused, but happy his friend trusted him enough to take refuge in him. He still didn't know what was wrong, but he was determined to make any thought of it disappear. He rested his head on top of House's, and kept him close until the shaking subsided.

_Nothing else may be safe, but he is, _House thought to himself. Everything else was still worth fearing, but Wilson was good. Wilson was safe, and he'd finally realized it for himself.

The Firstborn had succeeded- it emerged from the assigned position of the core, pushing Fear into its place after over a year of dominance. Personalities do not go away, but they can become dormant, for long periods at a time. Fear was a major part of House's personality, and it was an emotion frequently felt towards anything or anyone new or unusual. Wilson was not to be feared though, he finally learned. Wilson was his protector.

Wilson looked down at House, who had finally calmed down. "Feeling better?" he asked with a smile. House was afraid to do anything; afraid to acknowledge Wilson's question, afraid to answer, afraid to move. It was still very difficult to live without fear of being hurt or reprimanded. He tried, though, with a tiny nod symbolizing a 'yes.' Wilson's smile widened.

"Good. I don't know what happened… but I want you to know that as long as I'm around, nothing bad can happen to you, okay?" He tightened his grip on House for a moment before letting go. This time he was fairly sure House got the message. Something seemed to have finally fallen into place, and given House at least a little more comfort around Wilson. It was just a tiny improvement, but baby steps were all Wilson could ask for, and he was grateful for every one. Thank god for the little things that mean so much.

xxxxxxx


	3. Kindred spirits

I came up with this and wrote it down within an hour, so it may not be as good as it could be... but it was a random idea as it was and I just wanted to see what I could do with it. I love corvids, more than I probably should, so I'm frankly surprised they haven't shown up earlier... Well, let's see what you think o' this.

**Disclaimer**: You know the drill already.

* * *

To Wilson, ravens were probably the ugliest, noisiest, most unlikeable birds on earth. Or at least in New Jersey. _Of course House would have a staring contest with one. _

Wilson had been taking full advantage of House's new-found love of parks. Wilson loved being outside, walking around and looking at nature, and occasionally people-watching. House probably liked them simply because they were bright, colorful and spacious- he had hated dark, closed-in spaces for a long time now. But whatever the reason, it was good for House to be outside and Wilson had no complaints about being out of the apartment for awhile. It was a day off for Wilson, the start of a blessed three-day weekend, and figuring some fresh air could far from hurt, decided to walk with House down to the small park a few blocks away from his building.

Now, however, he could only wonder what he'd gotten himself into as he watched his friend stare down the biggest, shabbiest raven he'd ever seen, looking back at them inquisitively from its perch on a stump a few feet away from their bench. The bird had certainly seen better days- it looked like a ragdoll with its dusty coat, torn and missing feathers and a scraggly ruff at its throat, giving the appearance of an unkempt beard. Its left foot was missing a claw and its right wing bent at an odd angle, making Wilson wonder how, or _if_ it could fly. It was big, it was old and didn't appear to be in the mood for games. Part of Wilson laughed hysterically at the idea of House getting the hell pecked out of him by an ornery raven, but regretted it immediately. It would only horrify him now, where once it may have earned the bird a few whacks with a well-aimed cane. But there was _something_ that had House absolutely fascinated by it, as he continued to stare in wonder at the scruffy corvid.

"You know, if you're looking for a challenge you can always start off with something _sane_ first… cards, puzzles, illusions… something _safer_ maybe than a big, angry bird?" There was humor in Wilson's voice, but he was honestly concerned- didn't territorial birds take staring, or really just being anywhere near them, as a threat? And god knew how many diseases that one was carrying… but the raven didn't seem to be bothered by what would earn most people an attack- it simply sat there, looking back at the transfixed man on the bench. Wilson took his chances and moved closer to the bird, sitting on the opposite side of House. The raven took notice of the new person on his territory and spread his wings, puffing his throat and letting rip a guttural caw that sent Wilson running from the bench. Once he returned from where he deemed was a 'safe' distance, he looked at House to see a mischievous grin on his face. He pointed to the raven and smiled his shy, tiny smile, translated by Wilson to mean "I like him."

Wilson sighed. "Of course you do…" Some things never change.

* * *

House seemed extremely eager to leave the small apartment the next day. He rarely seemed excited over much, but it was clear he wanted to go somewhere, and Wilson easily guessed the park. _But we were just there yesterday, and he's seen the place a million times- it can't be that exciting being in the same place, seeing the same things over and over… _but he figured he knew why.

"You wanna see your bird friend, don't you?" Wilson shook his head, smiling. _What is it with the raven? House hates birds. Or at least used to… _"I hate to break it to you, but I don't think you've made a wise choice of comrades… the filthy thing's probably not even in the city by now." But House could use being outdoors more, so if he wanted to go outside, outside they'd go.

They went about their usual routine- walk down to the park together, taking their time, and from there just meander around to House's lead, Wilson only making sure he didn't wander too far off the walkway, and ending whenever they felt ready at the same bench, hidden slightly by a bush. Wilson enjoyed being out in the cool air- it was autumn and the breeze was just beginning to get a bite to it. It was an added bonus to be able to watch the leaves slowly change colors and fall about. He liked being with his best friend, talking to him and pointing things out that might catch his interest and steering clear of anything that might end up disturbing him. It was good for the two of them to just be out- this was the most exercise the two doctors had probably gotten in years, House particularly- and Wilson was glad House was willing to venture out into the world, despite the stares that occasionally stemmed from it. Don't let the little things get to you, as he'd always thought.  
They continued their trek until they came upon their usual spot, and sat down awhile. House still couldn't stand for long periods of time, so the bench at the half-way point around the park was the perfect place to stop, and eventually it became 'their' spot. To Wilson's amusement, House actually glanced around briefly and looked at the tree stump, as if expecting the haggard old raven to still be there. It was a little sad, really- House liked the bird for some reason and was excited to see it again, only to find it wasn't there. "Sorry, buddy, I think you missed him," Wilson apologized. They were come-and-go birds- unless it had established a family of other ravens in the area, it was unlikely to think it would stick around. But despite House's initial disappointment they stayed there awhile, taking a chance to stop and rest for a moment rather than just moving through. Wilson had gotten himself lost in his own thoughts, staring at the sky when he felt his friend jump.

"Huhh?" He snapped out of it and looked in House's direction to see him smiling and staring in the direction of a familiar, ragged raven. It was definitely a bold bird, choosing to stand practically right in front of the two men rather than perch at a distance. It made Wilson nervous, but he was happy to see House happy, even under such weird circumstances. "Looks like your friend decided to stay. Maybe he was waiting for you," and he poked House playfully. Apparently crows and ravens had impeccable memories, and could even remember faces. Maybe the old bird recognized them and decided to greet them. His only question was, why was it so enamored with House? The bird seemed to like him as much as House liked it. It was a bit confusing, but you never knew what connections might bring things together. He'd heard of animals befriending what would normally be their food and taking natural enemies into their care. Sometimes things just happen- there's no explaining it.

In a helpful mood and fairly certain House would stay where the bird was, Wilson wandered down the hill and got a few pieces of bread from a family feeding the birds. He didn't know if ravens even liked bread, but it was worth a shot. He made his way back up the small hill, only to stand surprised when he reached the bench.

In the time Wilson had been gone, the raven had managed to make himself quite comfortable on the bench, right where he had previously been sitting.

"What…?" it was the only thing Wilson could say. The normally secretive, protective and fiercely territorial raptor was sitting calmly right next to his friend, who didn't mind in the least. To say this was weird was an understatement.  
"It… took my seat? … eh? Well… can I have it back? I have bread." _Now I'm bargaining with it, great. _At that, House looked at the raven, and the bird hopped onto his leg in a short flutter of feathers. It didn't seem to have the slightest problem being so social and trusting, leaving Wilson to wonder later if it had been hand-raised and set free, which would also explain why it was always alone instead of in a society of ravens. But, for the moment his one thought was, _holy shit. _It took him a moment to notice his mouth was open, and at that he snapped out of it and cautiously moved closer to his friend, bread in hand. "Ah, here… I don't know if he likes bread, but it's for him, so…"

House tore an edge from the bread, and tossed it a few feet away from him. The raven took off in the bread's direction, lopsided and slightly shaky due to its damaged right wing. Wilson took the opportunity to sit back down while the raven was gone, and from there simply sat in amazement as House played with what could be considered the most un-playful bird there is. House continued to toss tiny bits of bread at it, which it would either hop over to, or even try to catch in the air, jumping up and flapping its torn old wings to reach the piece before it hit the ground. It was like watching a boy play with a dog- a beat-up, mangy dog. He sat there quietly, watching House enjoy the time with his bizarre new companion, when a random memory from school popped into Wilson's head. He remembered how in 7th grade Science they had studied nature and animals, and had talked briefly about animal species and families and how groups survived. He remembered his teacher telling them that a pack or flock of animals could only move as fast as its weakest member, and more often than not the injured, old and weak were ostracized and abandoned for the sake of the others. For the sake of survival, certain species would beg help from stronger, lone members of their species, or come together with other injured animals in order to have a better chance at surviving.

Wilson smiled. The old, injured bird had sought out a family of sorts in another hurt being, and it happened to be House. It had probably seen the limp, and animals of all kinds seemed to have a 6th sense when it came to disease and pain- they could just _tell_ somehow. It probably felt safe around something it deemed to be as weak as it was, and zeroed in on him. He had to stifle a laugh when it came to mind that they even bore a few physical similarities- they both had a messed up left leg, scars and scratches, scruffy beards and a dusty, hobo-ish appearance at first sight. Wilson figured House might be afraid of such a big bird, but he was comfortable near it from the beginning, and he figured it was for similar reasons- there was connection in them both being beaten up, weak and alone in their own personal battle. The two were truly a pair, and Wilson laughed out loud at that thought, but he was happy. Friends do come in all sizes, and many from strange places, as he himself knew quite well. _Seems to me we'll be coming back here more often… _but he far from minded.

* * *

Later in the evening, Wilson decided to look up the definition of 'Raven' in the dictionary, out of pure curiosity. A smile grew as he read, "_The Raven, poorly reputed as a lowly scavenger and an unwanted and feared harbinger of death, is only just beginning to get the respect deserved of it for its extraordinary intelligence and capability to survive in any atmosphere, under even the most brutal conditions- a feat of intelligence and determination in itself..."  
_The article continued, but that was all he needed to read. _A perfect pair, indeed. _It's strange how the world sometimes works, but Wilson didn't bother pondering it- he was simply happy how sometimes the littlest things can have such a profound impact- even just a walk in the park.

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	4. Jackass

I've never been much of an inspired writer, but this is fun :D I'm glad I gave this a shot, and thanks to everyone who's reviewed and poked at me to continue this. It'll be interesting to see where it heads.

This one's kinda funny for a change... hope ya like it!

* * *

Questioning looks followed Dr. Wilson as he walked through the hospital, the biggest grin anyone had seen from the young oncologist in months plastered on his face. He was trying his hardest to contain it, hinted by the thinly-drawn lips just keeping his teeth covered- hard to believe since it already appeared his face was prepared to crack in half at any moment. Everyone wondered what had gotten into him- it was far too early to be smiling like that for no reason, but what could have possibly happened since last night that made him so happy? But whatever the reason, people just decided to let him be- it had been some time since they had seen the cheeriness return to the once upbeat doctor, and no one felt like ruining the mood.

There was still a smile on his face as Cuddy walked through his door to pose a question about a patient in the later half of the morning. Wilson understandably hadn't quite been himself for awhile, and to see a sign of honest happiness on his face was a pleasant surprise she couldn't pass asking about.

"What's got you so happy?"

Wilson shook his head, smiling. "Well, its nothing, really, but…" A small laugh escaped him before he could continue. "Well, I can sometimes take awhile in the shower… at least by House's standards, good god, actually taking the time to look presentable was practically a blasphemy to him…"

"And?" She urged him to continue, a small smile creeping across her own lips.

"So, I got him up and went to take a shower… and it took a bit longer because I couldn't actually get my hair to lay flat, I looked really goofy…" his voice shook slightly as he attempted to hold back chuckles. "So I spent awhile trying to fix it, I'm seeing patients of mine for a consult, I can't look all disheveled… and when I got out, House was kinda staring at me…" He broke, unable to hold the laughter back any longer. "He was looking at me weird, but there was a smile on his face… so I asked him what was up…"

"Yeah?" She was hooked by this point, laughing a little herself, even if she didn't know why yet. Whatever this was about had to be good…

"And he said something to me… you know what he said?"

"What?"

"He said…" He was near hysterical at this point, his face red.  
"He told me I was a girlie jackass." And at that Wilson lost it- he doubled up practically howling with laughter, tears running from his eyes. "He… he called me a jackass!" It wasn't long before Cuddy joined him as well, both of them giggling the way two professional co-workers rarely do, sharing the happiness of a sign of improvement in their friend. A rather strange sign, but it was House after all. Name calling was his forte, and to hear it again after so long could only be a good thing, for once.

"Yep. That's me… I'm a jackass! A girlie jackass." And Wilson couldn't have been happier to flaunt his new status. Cuddy shook her head, grinning. _It's the little things that count, after all. _

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	5. Words

Short 'n sweet again, because reality beckons.

I really liked the idea when it popped into my head, but I'm not so sure how well this turned out... I'm frankly not sure if it even makes sense to anyone except my own addled brain. I love how complex and almost insanity-inducingly difficult it can be to communicate at times, even in the littlest ways, but then at the same time you can speak volumes with just one or two words, or even total silence. As always, lemme know what you think.  
Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed/commented :) It's whats keeping me motivated to actually think of something else and keep this going.

* * *

House and Wilson sat quietly together in the early morning light after breakfast. House had broken back out of his shell little by little and would talk now, but still seemed to prefer silence over anything. Wilson laughed softly when the thought passed through his mind that he honestly wasn't sure if it was good or bad that House was finally _willingly_ quiet. He had always loved to hear himself talk, his arrogance as tall and wide as any mere skyscraper and his knowledge of such a thing as politeness nonexistent. Though he did so very little anymore, Wilson was happy he at least _would_ talk from time to time, and crack his usual remarks. The silence was no longer a troubling thing, though. He was familiar with it by now, and had even learned that there was a whole language unto itself hidden away in quietness. Silence could speak volumes, and sometimes the greatest communication took place in the fewest words.

Wilson could sense how House felt, and at times even what he wanted to say simply by listening, even when nothing was being said at all. It was as if Wilson were only one step away from being able to read the man's mind- books could be written on the meaning behind a single smile or frown, a certain gesture or look revealing more than even words could at the right times. It was incredible what could be said without actually saying a thing, and Wilson had managed to decipher that unspoken language that House had depended on for close to two years in the stead of his then-feared voice. A whole conversation was had as they sat together on the couch, though neither man even looked at the other. Wilson remembered an old saying, _Good friends can sit together in total silence, and walk away feeling it was the best conversation they ever had. _He smiled at the truth of it. There were things Wilson knew House would never say out loud- House was still House, after all, no matter how you looked at it- but within the confines of these mute exchanges, Wilson knew what House felt and thought, and to him that was what made all the difference.

After a time, the two men had gone their own ways in the apartment, Wilson to prepare for work as House slowly paced around, figuring out what to do with the majority of the day he'd have to himself. Eventually he headed back to the couch, and Wilson noticed from the other room that his friend was staring at him, or at least in his direction, seemingly lost in thought. _Who knows what's actually going on in his head, though…_ within a matter of minutes he'd pulled together what he needed before heading off, and entered into the living room once more.

"Alright, I'm off. I doubt I'm going to be there that long, I have three patients to see and practically nothing else to do with my time after that… but you'll be fine by yourself here?" He'd been asking that question almost every day for a month. He was confident in House's progress, but still naturally concerned for his friend's well-being.

"Yes, mommie," House sarcastically droned. Wilson sighed.

"And everything's sorted out with the phone numbers now, right…"

"Yes."

"And you-"

"Dammit, I'll be fine. Contrary to popular belief, my head won't explode the moment you step out the door. Though that might be kinda fun." Wilson shook his head, annoyed, but he couldn't hide the laughter.

"Alright, fine. I'll see you in a few hours, then. Just… _try_ not to set the place on fire?" Wilson pleaded. The evil grin from House left him no assurance, but he turned to leave for work with a simple prayer that the building would still be standing when he got back. He'd been frantically praying that same prayer for almost a month, as well. He was almost out the door when he heard his name.

"… Wilson?" A very uncertain-sounding House called at the last minute. Maybe something was up. The stubborn ass could never admit something was wrong until the last second… but Wilson turned to face his friend, concern seeping into his features. "Hmm?"

House remained silent for a few moments, but eventually looked directly at his friend and quietly said, "Thank you."  
It was so vague it took Wilson a moment to figure out what exactly it was he was talking about. It was the silent space between them that allowed Wilson to look into his friend's eyes and see the true depth of what had just been said. _He means everything. _At a total loss of how to respond to the other man, Wilson simply smiled and nodded before heading out, figuring- hoping- House would know how he felt. He just wanted to get out of House's sight before the tears that had sprung to his eyes became noticeable. Heartrending moment or not, House wouldn't be beyond making fun of Wilson for crying in front of him. But Wilson was truly moved by the simple statement from his friend. _It's always the littlest things that get to you in the end…_

He wiped the moisture from his eyes and sighed, smiling, the true complexity and wonder of language opened right before his eyes- the depth and ability of silence to communicate where words are inadequate… and the ability of just two simple words to convey every thought in the human brain and every emotion in the human heart. _Far from little, it seems… _


	6. Doubts

I'm running out of ideas really fast... so this might be the last one for awhile. It'll be continued whenever some' new pops into my head and I have the time to type it up, and something should pop up at some point... wheeee...

Thanks again for all the lovely comments :D Its the only reason I was motivated enough to keep adding to this thing. I give you all cookies- chucks cookies at reviewers

**EDIT:** Much thanks to Chickloveslotr for pointing out a really stupid plot mistake I made. All's fixed now :) Enjoy:

* * *

There were moments when Wilson couldn't help but wonder if he'd really done the right thing.

He felt he had. His best friend needed help at the end of a nightmarish ordeal, and he was more than willing to lend a hand. They had lived together in the past, Wilson's apartment had room to spare and House only seemed to truly be at ease, even if only slightly, around Wilson, which was more than could be said for anyone else at the time. House would be comfortable in the care of his friend, and any issues that might spring up could be easily dealt with. It seemed like the best plan of action at the time- if it was an option, living with family or a capable friend was a better one than a home or an institution simply for the ease of the patient- one is always more comfortable around people they know and trust. For once Wilson was actually in the position to truly help House and do some good for his friend, and he took advantage of it.

There were still times he doubted how much good his good intentions were really doing. It had been over a year and House was still the frail and scared shell he was at the beginning. Very little had changed, House wasn't getting any better and Wilson was only growing wearier as time went on. House was still very nervous and fidgety after all this time, and the littlest things still managed to set him off. He had night terrors that Wilson feared would cause the poor man a heart attack, and often resulted in a sleepless night for both of them- House too fearful of horrors both remembered and imagined to sleep, Wilson left to simply try and give him some inkling of peace, and usually failing. The nights either of them got more than 4 hours of sleep were rare, and they suffered for it. House only became jumpier, Wilson punchier. He recalled with a great deal of regret the few occasions he had yelled at House, sleep deprivation and stress lowering his patience levels significantly. He even remembered throwing something at one point- it had only been a pillow, when Wilson _thought_ House had left the room, but that made no difference. The swift, violent motion sent him fleeing, and despite Wilson's best efforts he hid from view most of the day. Every step forward could be sent several steps back by the smallest thing… and it was coming to the point that Wilson wondered if he'd really made the right decision for House's care.

He remembered there were people who _had _made the attempt to talk him out of it; he calmly refused. Cuddy, out of concern for both of them, had spouted the benefits of institutions and homes, even assisted living.

"I'm not farming him out," Wilson protested softly but adamantly, hoping to end the persuasion. "He's my friend. He trusts me. I'm not putting him in a position where total strangers are surrounding him at all times of the day, scaring the shit out of him and probably making this whole situation worse instead of helping him. I'm capable and willing… I'll take care of him."

Nearly two years later, he could only sigh and think that maybe she was right. It probably would have been better in the long run for House to be in a care facility. Wilson wanted House to have a sense of safety and security, and so gave the man as much privacy as he could. The resulting mistake was that House easily hid things from him, ranging from food to injuries. It took Wilson a week to finally realize House had sprained his ankle somehow- most likely falling in his room. House never showed the slightest sign of pain and walked on the leg as if nothing were wrong. He almost needed a cast for it. Anywhere else, caretakers or nurses would've noticed immediately and gotten him help. They would check him and his space over on a regular basis instead of worrying about making him uncomfortable. They would be able to do something about the night terrors with therapy or proper medication, and his overall health would probably improve a good deal. Nurses worked in shifts, new people ready to work and take on the challenges replacing those who had worked their hours and were stressed or tired. Being in the right environment would probably even help him improve and begin to return to his former self, with the aid of doctors. The people that worked in those types of places were well-versed in psychology and therapy. They would actually be able to deal with him and help him out. Wilson simply wanted to care for his friend, support him and help him the best he could. These people would actually be capable of helping him progress, focusing more on his mental status and moving him forward than Wilson was able to. He had made a mistake out of love, and now they were both paying for it.

* * *

At some point, Wilson had made the decision to make things take a turn for the better. Difficult though it would be, he wanted his friend to get better, and there was a better chance of that happening if he were in the hands of people more capable. It broke his heart to even consider it, but he started going through the motions anyway- consulting with health institutes and gathering names of facilities, getting phone numbers and leafing through pamphlets. _Things will be better this way… _he convinced himself, though some small part of him continued to scream that it was wrong. _House's happiness matters… but so does his condition. I can't help him. _And so he dialed numbers and spoke with nurses and administrators, received information, every bit of it beaming with positivity, from the beautiful landscaping to the happiness and productivity of the residents. Wilson had to wonder what the patients would say if they were put on the phone. He had been to homes many times- two of his grandparents ended up in one, and all he could remember were the halls perpetually stinking just faintly of urine, and the residents, sedated and dead-eyed as they slowly moved through their carefully planned out days. Far from happy times. _Maybe these places are different… _he doubted himself though. _Am I really going to put House in one of these? _He sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. _It's for the best. He won't be there forever... they can help him in ways that I can't. _

Wilson sat by himself in the living room in the evening. House was already asleep in the next room. Hopefully he'd stay asleep… his nightmares had been steadily decreasing in the passing weeks. Wilson saw it as a very good sign. Wilson smiled at the image of House asleep- curled in an awkward ball, Mr. Vicodin close by, a big pill-shaped sentinel in the dark. Would any of those places let him keep Mr. Vicodin? That freaky little thing was House's sense of security, a safety blanket… he flips out when he gets lost somewhere, leading Wilson on a wild goose-chase as they both ransack the apartment looking for him. Places like that didn't often let residents keep more than the necessary utilities… clothes and the required sanitary supplies. _House would flip shit_, Wilson thought with a little amusement. _And for that they would sedate him… _the amusement left in a flash. Those residents that needed medication would usually be slipped a small sedative alongside what they needed if the administration felt it necessary. In House's case, it'd be mandatory. They'd just keep him drugged all the time. They'd have to… being surrounded by total strangers would horrify him. And his panic attacks probably wouldn't be dealt with that lightly… when the man got scared, cripple or not he could _bolt._ In which case either the caretakers or security would probably attempt either cornering or pinning him, the only two things you can really do to capture a hysterical, fleeing patient. Which would only make matters that much worse… _am I really going to do this to him? _Facilities like those did good and helped a lot of people… how much could they really help House? He'd be stripped of the only things that had ever given him any semblance of security or comfort… and you can't get anywhere at all with a patient who doesn't at least feel safe. A sense of trust is always the biggest issue. House put trust in Wilson. House felt safe around him. He was the only one House would let within more than a few feet of him, let touch him, let help him. But he had been gaining a greater sense of trust in people in general… and that was because of Wilson.

House was finally comfortable being outside and being around strangers, if only briefly, because of him. They had finally-thankfully- come to the point that they didn't need to use that fucking string-leash-thing anymore, because House felt safe near Wilson and stuck close instead of straying or running off if he got spooked. He had stopped trying to hoard food, finally realizing that it was no longer necessary, and though shakily due to his hands' condition, he would use utensils again. Water didn't terrify him anymore, he was willing to take baths and only really needed help getting out. Wilson's stories and jokes had cracked smiles onto his face and he was very slowly becoming more comfortable with showing emotions. Wilson had been too focused on the big picture to see all of the little things he had sparked in House over the years. He still wasn't the same, the old House wasn't back and maybe never fully would be, but he _was_ slowly moving towards that goal with Wilson's aid. He loved his friend, and was willing to see him through to the end and help him slowly move past this ordeal. The idea of taking him anywhere else suddenly seemed offensive. No one else could care for House the way he did, help him in the ways that he could. No one else could get that close to him. No one else was really willing to treat him like a normal person- Wilson still joked with him, talked casually to him, bitched at him, whined to him, prodded and persuaded him as was his usual nature. No one else would love him that much.

Wilson briefly poked his head into House's room. Still asleep, fortunately. He smiled at his friend and sighed. _Nothing for you to worry about… you're staying with me. _House wasn't back to normal, no huge progress had been made… Wilson knew it would all come in good time. They would take what came to them when it got there, and continue to move down the road together. Little things add up with time, after all.

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End file.
